Air Conditioning
Alright, alright
Waitin' room stench, the loo smell nice
Faces of death rip the tickets
50 potential health problems cover the walls
I could have them all, who cares?
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Alright, alright
Death rays burn the air conditioning
And smash out the warnings that everyone needs to hear
This is the end, this is the end of your cool black Monday
Deadly 60, ray gun battered hate
I can't believe the rich still exist
Let alone run the fuckin' country, mate
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Alright, alright
Dog waste, car showroom
Look fuckin' stupid, shiny
Inventions unobtainable
For the real, obtainable for the tits
Big car, small life
That's just the way it is
I've been in debt and confused
For so long, it's not true
I wanna nurse it
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Death rays burn the air conditioning
Drive
Tied Up in Nottz
The smell of piss is so strong
It smells like decent bacon
Kevin's getting footloose on the overspill
Under the piss-station
Two pints destroyer on the cobbled floors
No amount of whatever is gonna chirp the chip up
It's "The Final Countdown, " by fuckin' Journey
I woke up with shit in my sock outside the Polish off-licence
"They don't mind" said the arsehole to the legs
You got to be cruel to be kind, shit bank
Save it up like Norbert Colon
Release the stench of shit grub like a giant toilet kraken
The lonely life that is touring
I got an armful of decent tunes, mate
But it's all so fuckin' boring
Tied up in Nottz, with a Z, you cunt
Black t-shirts and state toss
Nobby's Nuts, the rule of rough cuts
A to Z of nothing gets all the shiz
We are real, we are looking 20p in the 10p mix
Crab eyes, another lonely little DJ with no fuckin' life
Weetabix, England, fuckin' shredded wheat, Kelloggs cunts
On bleak shiz, hard cock, the green light don't stop
The shit homegrown dealers of Berlin begging for lolly
And it's beautiful how the privileged still let 'em in
Tied up in Nottz, Shit!
And then the dealer's tipped up
Tied up in Nottz, Shit!
And then the dealer's tipped up
Tied up in Nottz, Shit!
And then the dealer's tipped up
Tied up in Nottz, Shit!
And then the dealer's tipped up
... Big up the riots!
A Little Ditty
Captured, but we've been told what to do
I didn't realise either, mate, I'm with you
I've been following white lines all my life
Touché turtle, jump the castle, avoid the disco dancers
No hassle, doing beak like that with a kid at your mums
Paramedics, you should've thought about that one
Heart-stopper, boom! Clear!
What happened to Richard? All I can see is gear
Breathless, incinerate, processed cheese
Become what you hate, become what we are
A series one with dreams to reach a series four
Drive, drive, six packs, drive, drive, white teeth, KitKat
Take the money and run, join the elite
You sold yourself to no one
Pied piper, whiskey notes, the wonder wall fell down on you
A little ditty and it's all gone wrong
I don't expect the tools to sing along
A little ditty and it's all gone wrong
A little ditty
A little ditty
I ain't a threat, they leave me alone, flat cool gambo
You know when I worked there I got a bad feeling from a man
I can't work with someone like that again, Sam
A little ditty and it's all gone wrong
I don't expect the kid to sing along
That band from the '80s, that punk band what are they called
The Queen's Park Rangers, been around ages, you tool
We're all up in the top room of the pub
Getting heavy with the past that didn't exist
You reshape to give celeb mates Shoreditch yarn
In the, have you been for a poo-poo barn
Gnarly coke death faces
Death, death, death, death, nine to a cubicle (death)
Like squeezing, screwing-up faces
Last choke push the wheels of the next big thing
You scratch my back, I don't scratch anything
Apart for my nads, oi, Mick, I'm born to be bland
Jumped up in black leather, flints, death, curry wurst
Smashed, and in everything
A little ditty and it's all gone wrong
I don't expect the tools to sing along
A little ditty and it's all gone wrong
A little ditty
A little ditty
A little ditty
A little ditty
I don't expect the tools to sing along, yeah
That was shit, I been there, that was fucking shit
You’re Brave
Sat around the bloke's house
He liked me because I made some informed comment
About the early history of his fuckin' country
Big mirror
Lumps of drugs
His own private lift
Shit pieces of art
Matter-of-fact statements
About how he's pickin' his kids up in two hours
Twat, as if
You're brave
You're brave
You're brave
Yeah, ain't we all?
Chain smoke your fags
I ain't listening to you mate
I ain't listening to fuck all
I just wanked in your toilet
Polish that you connoisseur
I'm a connoisseur
I've conned you, sir
Nicked your biscuits
Laughed with your mates
Wanked in your toilet
You fuckin' tit-rifle
Yawn turn this wannabe inner-city yank shit off
You're in the presence of toiletry
From under the rim
Drips the bleach thing
Moo, horrible strands of brown waste, bland lace nut top
You're brave
You're brave
You're brave
I'm getting weird looks from his girlfriend
What did she expect?
The parlour's alright, it's a nice city
But I'm tired, I'm wrecked, bored
I've lived ten thousand lives
More than these kids in wonderland
When it turns black,
Then the realization will change that party face
You've got to change your friends
Who love you long time like
Chicken mix, large no salad open, times two
I want a place like this, how do I get it?
It's beautiful
It's fuckin' ridiculous
How'd you spell that?
Chumbawamba weren't political
They were just crap
You're brave
You're brave
You're brave
Oh, ain't we brave?
Oh, ain't we brave?
Oh, ain't we all just pissing in the flames?
We all just pissing in the flames
Oh, ain't we brave?
Strike Force
The corner wakes everbody up
Especially the me first waitin' to jump
Midnight snipers, prowlin' the shopping centre whilst it's quiet
Whilst the flowerman sets up
Braggin' about the money he's got
The petite bourgeoisie with his new van
And fuckin' plantin' pots, brown plastic
The man always acts fantastic
Tesco extra and a real bad cough
That stinks of microwaved rice with beef stroganoff
The struggle in words, swivel servant
The struggle in words, swivel servant
The war torn lino on the toilet floor
And the way the decorator's mate blens it all in
We are caged, tryin' to pick preferences out the unlucky bin
Strangers grunt and make a mess near the fuckin' sink
Tuck my shirt in, shrunk from too much washin'
20 quid, ya get what you give
And I'm not talkin' 'bout that twat either
The wind blows on the favoured
Who managed to grease the eager machine, eager beaver
The struggle in words, civil servant
The struggle in words, swivel servant
Adjust my tie, I hate this lie
The struggle in words, swivel servant
I can't see it, ranges from pick you nose and do something else
To, I just can't fuckin' believe it
Can't you like it, or can't you like it?
The Club of Rome holds two grapes
And they belong to me, mate
I got the option to cycle and get fit
Get the bus, taxi, walk it
Roundabouts, cogs
Blocked, Audi T4, Some twat on a fix
Everybody looks like they got it
The strugglin' words, swivel servant
The strugglin' words, swivel servant
Adjust my tie, I hate this lie
The strugglin' words, swivel servant
Adjust my tie, I hate this lie
Adjust my tie, I hate this lie
Adjust my tie, I hate this lie
The strugglin' words
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
Strike force
The Corgi
The Corgi, the Palace gets it right
The Corgi, it's always warm at night
The Corgi, the driveway and the range
The Corgi
Mighty old times, where will we be?
Trench foot horror they overtake me
The yellow mist falls, oh, what we gonna do?
History repeats like BBC2
The Corgi, the Palace gets it right
The Corgi, it's always warm at night
The Corgi, the driveway and the range
The Corgi
To make it obscure is the mark of a man
Live a life of freedom near the river in France
I ain't no mouthy baker, the cake ain't for me
A four pint punter in the Chinese
The Corgi, the Palace gets it right
The Corgi, it's always warm at night
The Corgi, the driveway and the range
The Corgi
The guns ain't gonna scream
No signs of rain, no signs of rain
Let's walk it down
The guns ain't gonna scream
No signs of rain, no signs of rain
Let's walk it down
The men ain't gonna scream
No signs of pain, no signs of pain
Let's walk it down
The men ain't gonna scream
No signs of pain, no signs of pain
No signs of pain
The Corgi, the Palace gets it right
The Corgi, it's always warm at night
The Corgi, the driveway and the range
The Corgi
From Rags To Richards
The fame, the fame
What else you got apart from chipboard
And Sir Lancelot
Fags and meat
Lincolnshire tweets
Get slick, we mean it
Kitchens and sniff
Go hand in hand
Like the wankers it employs
Sexy people in shiny shit
With bags of it to enjoy
Have a bit of realism
No teeth and a bus stop seat
That's your house
Y'racy prick
The tedium that connects itself to the nibble
Local media
And posh suburban wankers
Live in Brussels
From rags to Richards
The ferry got us out of the pain
From rags to Richards
I hope I don't see that daft cunt again
Blocked off
The entrance to this flat
And that
The life of a band
Attracts the chubbs in packs
Chubbed up mate
It's sex shows on tap
Heaven 17
Is that the house, name and number, Pat?
Rick got slick on a dark hole man
Missed his train
Did he fuck!
He didn't even go to the station duck
Grey walls that tower
Old bricks
Stop the car Pete, I'm gonna be sick
Spray gun
Make the petrol stain flowers wish they had done
Parlour tales of death threats on golden thrones
Those cunts at the top
Carry hollow bones in throws
Findus crispy human fingers
Captain Sadist
Hundred per cent cod
Fuck off!
From rags to Richards
The ferry got us out of the pain
From rags to Richards
I hope I don't see that daft cunt again
The fame
The fame
Look mate, we got to get together
What for?
Motorbikes kiss the green lights
Snore snore snore
Look mate, we got to get together
What for?
Motorbikes kiss the green lights
Snore snore snore
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The fame
The
Liveable Shit
So I got in this morning
And I went to the loo
He walked out the cubical
And it fucking stunk
Every morning I get in and its
The same time
Same trap
Same stink
And it glides through the air
And by the time it's hit ye'
Its been pacified by ten yards of fresh air
Liveable shit
You put up with it
Liveable shit
You put up with it
And the narley fuckin' arseholes that gather
No balls to do anything apart from slither
Mixed in with knowlage and no localism
Just fake accent nicked from someone posh
They might have met in Shoreditch
A vegitarian vet?
Lou fucking Reid
Whoever
G.G fucking Allen
Gestures of violence to anyone
Who can't see or hear them
That kind of prick
That kind of shit
Liveable shit
Like three months of rain
Nobody likes a fucking tory reign
The prime minsiters face hanging in the clouds
Like Gary Almonds' Dracular
As Keanu Reeves drove up to the fucking castle
Laughing really badly
Relentless
Like the gears on a bus if you sat at the back
Next to a noisy twat
St. Georges flag twat
Liveable shit
Liveable shit
You put up
With it
Liveable shit
You put up with it
You put up with it
You put up with it
You put up with it
Put up with it
So now i don't dream of anything
I just wait for it to turn up
It's the athmosphere around here
Chop me legs of look
Made me lazy
Made me worry about the streets behind me
Trees like triffits
No time
The grass is always greener on the other side
Break on fruit
End up in a posh cemetry in Paris
It's not bad
You fuckin'
Liveable shit
(Was that any good?)
Liveable shit
You put up with it
Liveable shit
You put up with it
You put up with it
You put up with it
You put up with it
You put up with it
You put up with it
Under the Plastic and N.C.T.
Under the Plastic and N.C.T.
Bollocks
Ryvita
Ryvita
Crack black pepper
Comrades pick up your arms
The long arm of the law is indeed in charge
I won't talk to nice people if they look rich
I know it's not on mate
I'm such a fucking bitch!
Surfing comments
Looking at the likes
Whilst coppers chase bandits through the top valley skies
To disagree on social networking sites
It's to kill the counter culture
The overtones has died
We pander to the camera
And we want to be observed
We don't get what we ask for
We get what we deserve
Stale fags hang on my clothes like indie band badges
As I remember last night ignoring people I don't like
Trying to buy a pint
And what does it matter
What if I rot inside a care home
With eight of the bastards
Immobile with crap banter
Oh, look there's Angry J, we're here
Give us a tinkle on the rattling joanna, mate
Under the plastic and N.C.T.
Of grained handmarks devour me
Under the general weight of it all
Exist impossible visions of you
It's one of them, innit?
The violent exit
Let's fuckin' bin it
Ryvita existence
A pointless opposition to the fat
Of pointless State resistance
And the State is no longer your voice
The mechanics hijacked by the lies
In false choice of a false fuckin' choice
Tied up in death
I hate the terror
The horrible fear
Whilst life knifes you as it screams:
"You got fuck all left!"
Under the plastic and N.C.T.
Of grained handmarks devour me
Under the general weight of it all
Exist impossible visions of you
People might be in groups willingly
Let 'em get on with it
You can't expect people to listen to your fucking
Mouth just because you don't believe in it
Thousands of Saturday lager bellies punching the air
Denouncing the value of somebody else's flag
Whilst viciously believing in theirs
Fucking useless, this well-trodden street
Vague notions about the so-called elite
And that moulds spit Trent Bridge chaos
It's not really, is it?
Cardboard heavies
Drones to the delusions of a never-never land
Where the cross rings out the orders
Don't let the mechanics of beer
Trick you into thinking you are some kind of warrior
Eating barbwire on the wave of violent disorder
Three words:
Cage, Wheel, Hamster
'Ere, here's a bit of cheese
Nibble the bastard!
Under the plastic and N.C.T.
Of grained handmarks devour me
Under the general weight of it all
Exist impossible visions of love
Tiswas
Pop round Matt, I'll give you a fiver!
The Land That Time Forgot is on repeat
I can hear the screams of people, who wanna be me
They wanna shave my tongue
And tell the others that they were the ones who made me
Who made me
I've got called an anarchist
That's for the middle class trainspotters
I don't want my dog on a string
That's gonna hurt the thing
We got jobs in the mortgage clan
And a car with a smoking window down
Blow to your life and lob it right off
It don't make sense I know, look
The dinosaurs are stuck on Denmark Street
The boots of Hendrix lick my feet
I'm not bothered, I never was
Here's a crap caravan on Tiswas
The dinosaurs are stuck, no way to get down
The meteor sinks its teeth in the ground
I'm not bothered, I never was
Here's a crap gag from "Spit the Dog"
Cameron's hairdresser got an MBE
I said to my wife you better shoot me
It's all gone, what to do I do
Tell my daughter it's not true
Tell my daughter it's all gone wrong
Pete Tong, Pete Tong, Pete Tong
Get out of the mood
Get out of the way
The dinosaurs are stuck on Denmark Street
The boots of Hendrix lick my feet
I'm not bothered, I never was
Here's a crap caravan on Tiswas
Tiswas! OTT!
Tiswas! OTT!
Keep Out of it
Charcoal coloured night at the entrance
Hazed, I won't walk in
Those nights, those weekends
Give you a kickin'
People half your age
I feel like Elaine Paige
But without the fuckin' tunes an' Joe Cocker bollocks
East miserable Mainline
Where the air con won't be saved by Nicolas Cage
Put some fuckin' heatin' on
Don't be shy
Smoker's cough and a poky loo
Gets drenched when I turn the tap on
One pint can on
I keep out of it
I keep out of it
I keep out of it
I keep out of it
Play it smooth
Too much to consider
I didn't ask you to, did I?
Two wi one O or two spelt T double O
Oh no, Speak & Spell hell
Ian's a twat and he still works in a clothes shop
Desperately announced any death of whatever
Strengthens
Better pay ya respects
Quick for the kudos
Coffees at expensive tea shops
Full of local art
Fuck off!
Gromit
Thomas the Tank Engine
Forties sleepy village carrot cake hell
Vomit
His unimagined work towards the goal
Of no soul
Just happenings
Within the four walls of your own fuckin' home
I keep out of it
I keep out of it
I keep out of it
I keep out of it
Eatin' Coffeemate by the spoon
It tastes like cake mix
I waste time flickin' bogeys
Really sore nose
"Is this your handywork?"
As the green particles from the men's toilet
Land on your fuckin' shirt
I keep out of it
I keep out of it
I keep out of it
I keep out of it
Keep your eyes slit, make it
Keep your eyes slit, aye
Keep your eyes down to it
Keep your eyes, aye-aye
Smithy
PX CD
SS looks like SS without the line leather
Wallpaper in the lift, I still buy your shirt
Through the eye of a needle, the red blood of history
At your disposal, high heels, Evel Knievel
A picture of Keef lookin' like a twat
Who cares about rock stars anymore?
Big leather chairs and panelled walls in Tudor flats
It gave birth to a million street alcoholics that you ignore
Ooh, I need a D-string from the guitar store
I'm turnin' over a new leaf
There's no drugs left on this one
Plastic belly, ooh, my God, sheriff
Opinionated trainees
You've had ya 15 minutes on Facebook
Where the garden of splendour fell all over ya
You loved it, print the A4 page
Print the A4 page, fuck off
Sir Paul, you can find B-inspiration in everything
The recyclable black bins bags of dog shit
Angels sing
New bragues, do a selfie
Quick, do it in the design office
This place looks sick, better than your own house
Anything's better than ya own house
The lamp in Sneino is better than your own house
Get a quick giggle out of the unfortunate drinking holes of the lower classes
It's muggins after ten by the angry underclasses
What you got? Nothin'
Don't look like it, Oi, what you got? Nothin'
It don't look like it
Stuck on repeat with a broken nose and robbery
Be straight
Sir Paul, you can find B-inspiration in everything
The recyclable black bins bags of dog shit
Angels sing
Middle Men
New Labour
The metropolis of discontent and lost dreams
Benson and messes and Denim Jeans
I'm gutted, I didn't think y'would
Fly-tippin' down at The Sherwood
The clink of strong drink, racing green paint crack Victorian sinks
And flushed is the system, I can't swim, so I sink
The Earth moves the kerb, it makes the fag areas stink
Warp like a tree and bitter twist nicotine we be
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Monda dinner Archway
Dead the drink of a victim, bad brains
The dead man's milk
Wilko's will have it, they got everything
The dome on the stately home, we got painted in the fumes from commuters
Make my bacon, threaten strangers with shooters
Car stereo shops that launder dirty dosh
Don't look you in the eye when you walk yo' dog
I bet they're all battered in the back on that Hedgehog, Sonic
Level in ten minutes, two minutes flat
Whole bloody fuckin' shop's on it, whoa
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Nine hundred pounds for a picture of Debbie Harry in art shops
Make me laugh my head off
Instead, with a feelin' of nothin'
Floating your ears, miss each other
They don't do much
Talking like props in a film about Top Gun
Tears, Top Gun glasses
The new opium for the lasses
Rescue dog like, fuck, the wood catches fire
Patrick Cox loafers size, ten in brown
Loved them, out the shop window is still controlled by the man, lol
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Where are we going?
Where are we going?
New Labour
Tweet Tweet Tweet
New Labour
The metropolis of discontent and lost dreams
Benson and messes and Denim Jeans
I'm gutted, I didn't think y'would
Fly-tippin' down at The Sherwood
The clink of strong drink, racing green paint crack Victorian sinks
And flushed is the system, I can't swim, so I sink
The Earth moves the kerb, it makes the fag areas stink
Warp like a tree and bitter twist nicotine we be
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Monda dinner Archway
Dead the drink of a victim, bad brains
The dead man's milk
Wilko's will have it, they got everything
The dome on the stately home, we got painted in the fumes from commuters
Make my bacon, threaten strangers with shooters
Car stereo shops that launder dirty dosh
Don't look you in the eye when you walk yo' dog
I bet they're all battered in the back on that Hedgehog, Sonic
Level in ten minutes, two minutes flat
Whole bloody fuckin' shop's on it, whoa
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Nine hundred pounds for a picture of Debbie Harry in art shops
Make me laugh my head off
Instead, with a feelin' of nothin'
Floating your ears, miss each other
They don't do much
Talking like props in a film about Top Gun
Tears, Top Gun glasses
The new opium for the lasses
Rescue dog like, fuck, the wood catches fire
Patrick Cox loafers size, ten in brown
Loved them, out the shop window is still controlled by the man, lol
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Middle men, the metropolis of discontent
Red and orange lights and old men
Where are we going?
Where are we going?
New Labour